Sunday, December 2, 2012

Excerpt, Man Whore

It’s been a whole
month already? Damn…

November was spent
with my head in the Day Job. Between the year-end rush of client calls and wrapping
up a project started when I had more time available, I’ve been flat out busy
with the Job That Pays the Bills. Despite this, I’ve managed a little more work
on the still untitled sequel to Man Whore. It’s almost finished. Well, no, it’s
almost ready to query. Then the work will start all over again. I know.

Anyway, because my functional
non-day-job time is scare, I’m going to keep this short and sweet so I can
really query that manuscript this year. Instead of listening to me ramble
today, enjoy an excerpt from Man Whore, and then hold me to querying its sequel
by year end.

~*~

Morgan Desrosier slipped through the heavy black door
sporting the name HIM in two-inch, white chipped letters above the handle: the
only identifier that anything existed beyond its walls. As he strutted up to
the bar, the bartender wrapped up his conversation with current customers and
poured a glass of whiskey, leaving it in front of Morgan as his gaze circled
the crowd.

"Slow for a Thursday," the bartender said.

"Very," Morgan agreed. Men mixed and milled about,
sure, but none of the bodies elicited interest from his. Several men looked him
over. Morgan discounted their hungry stares. He dressed to draw attention—
fishnet crawled down his arms peeking out from beneath the elbow-length sleeves
of his charcoal tee, black jeans with green-stitched seams, sized snug enough
to leave little to the imagination, black plastic hoops in his ears matched the
impressions under his shirt of little circles piercing his nipples. To complete
the look, his chestnut brown hair sported random black and green tips. He lined
his eyes the same, black smudges hugging crisp, green lines, colored around
emerald eyes openly judging any man bold enough to meet them.

After draining his drink, Morgan wove through the bodies on
the dance floor, avoiding groping hands until he reached his intended marks.
Yes, plural. The twins turned in unison, beaming wide smiles of perfect white
teeth at him.

"Our favorite slut," said Cayne. Or, maybe, that was
Layne.

"Looking for company?" asked Layne. Or maybe
Cayne.

They preferred the mystery and Morgan couldn't be bothered
to unravel it. To him, they were one. To him, they were The Twins. He didn't
bother trying to guess which one was Layne and which was Cayne because, when he
did, he inevitably guessed wrong. His hips swung as he approached, dancing
himself between them. Their hands welcomed him, one twin wrapping his arms
around Morgan's waist while the other draped fingers around the back of his neck,
tickling and teasing.

"You know I'm always looking for company," Morgan
said.

Exactly the same, he didn't care if the lips pressing to the
back of his neck belonged to Layne or Cayne. Each had thick, sandy brown hair
that fell over his face as if playing a game of hide-and-seek, and the most
unusual amber eyes with outer edges of muted green. They dressed anywhere from
conservative and casual to seductive to purely flamboyant. Tonight, they wore
ripped Levi's and maroon shirts with the buttons separated to their navels.
Morgan, with one arm around the shoulders in front of him, slipped his free
hand down a bare, smooth chest.

The twin tilted his head, his hair falling over his eyes as
they reflected mischief hidden in his thoughts. With a smile he said,
"Take us home, M."

"You know my rule."

"And you know ours." The whispered words eddied
around his ear and then dove down to his balls.

"Once," Morgan said.

"Once," they agreed in unison.

"And you won't be weird about it later."

The twins chuckled. The one behind him pressed his hips to
Morgan's ass while his brother grinded against him from the front. "We
promise," said Cayne. Or maybe Layne. "It won't ruin our
friendship."

"Just play," said the other. "Just pleasure.
Just once."

"Unless you request more."

Morgan laughed. "Cocky fuckers."

"Yes," purred Layne. Or maybe Cayne.

"We know what you like, and we know what we like."
The other gave him a faux coy wink.

"And that," said the first, "is dancing with
you, M."

"And teasing me," Morgan added.

"No teasing." The tongue wet his ear before
continuing with words. "Promises."

Morgan dropped his hands to the waist in front of him and
yanked the man closer. His response was clear and firm in his pants. The twin
nodded. On Morgan's shoulder, he felt the other nod in reply. "Oh boy,
what did I just agree to?" Morgan asked.

"Every man's wet dream," answered the tongue in
his ear. "Twins in his bed."